Thoughts become words, words become a poem, a poem become a song...
While writing The International Charrette Research and Design Report...
I am not yet empty water well
even the end is never ending and dark without the sound of water, just dry.
Dry with no tears, and no moisture either.
To be so dry is hell, sand in the eyes of dessert with no emotions and feelings, none to hold, none to breathe with, none to dance, none to cry to, none to laugh with, none to talk to, none to listen, none to kiss, none to dream with, none to walk with, none to argue, none to learn from, none to share and taste life with, none to offer a cup of tea, and none to receive anything from.
Time increases the distance to fulfil and I do not mind anymore.
Well, maybe a bit. That's why I write now, just to write with no thoughts more than that.
Is this hope or is this faith?
Holding to dreams, and desires do not serve me well
So I let it go and talk through that it is not for me
is this force me into letting go or is this let go because I do not want
Sailors do not see the horizontal line and still sail toward their destination even with a storm
Love, the actual love, not the bullshit expressed around, comes in its own time, maybe on the other side of the horizon, maybe on the other side of reality
is this really everything that can I have in this life?
Emptiness is a hole but somehow as it is the only thing I know it is actual quite comfortable, isn't it?
I try everything no space to list everything and I wait and wait and wait. Waiting is hell on earth.
I have had this empty glass fancy medium size bottle for years so now I fulfil it, just with a few words of a dreamer, believer, and a hopeless attitude who still cannot fully let go, is this faith what holds me in?